


Bee Yourself

by Hatteress (goddammitstacey)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sterek Campaign, TWCP, derek is the queen, this was not my fault, werebees, yes werebees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitstacey/pseuds/Hatteress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek turns the full on Alpha glare on him. The one that says, in no uncertain terms, that the current situation is the furthermost thing from amusing on any planet in any galaxy ever. It’s sorta ruined by the antennae though. And the wings.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>The one where Stiles pisses off a bee goddess and Derek's come tastes like honey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bee Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Requested for the Teen Wolf Charity Auction organised by the Sterek Campaign. Werebees. Because my workmate is a troll.
> 
> Title credit goes to [Halffizzbin](http://halffizzbin.tumblr.com/) because I was running on two and a half hours sleep when I posted this to Tumblr and that shit just isn't conducive to puns.

The thing about having a murderous werewolf flying at your face is that you don't tend to think about the consequences of much beyond _teeth_. So when the latest in the can-can line of rogue Alphas that has become Stiles' _life_ lunges for his throat, he doesn't hesitate, swinging the net of his lacrosse stick up to hook around the bee hive above him.

"Stiles!"

The hive bursts open on the Alpha's head, sending it rearing back with a surprised howl and Stiles has just enough time to register the furious buzzing and think, "holy shit, I'm gonna be that kid from My Girl" before a solid mass is tackling him down and away and darkness... everything's darkness.

* * *

He wakes up, which is sort of a surprise in and of itself because holy fucking shit, what is _air_? Stiles coughs, wheezes and shoves, rolling with the weight on top of him because he's more than familiar with it these days and he has an invested interest in its owner being alive.

"Der-" Stiles stops, coughing weakly into Derek's chest because Jesus, he feels like he's been punched in the _soul_. Stiles gulps in air and flattens one palm over Derek's heart. It takes him a few of terrifying seconds to find the beat but it's there; there and steady. Thank _god_.

Stiles groans and tries to lift his head again, this time peering around the clearing. The Alpha is no where to be seen—Ha! _Bee_ seen—which probably means he'd been run off with the might of Stiles' leet beehive catapult skillz. Not that there's any evidence of that either. Huh. Stiles cranes his neck, sweeping the forest floor for the broken hive, maybe a few bewildered bees but his search is cut short when Derek shifts under him.

"Stiles-"

"Here," Stiles says, catching Derek's hand as it lurches, punch-drunk towards his face and curling Derek's palm over the side of his neck. Stiles doesn't know if it's a werewolf thing or just a Derek thing, but he always calms when he can feel Stiles' pulse as well as hear it. On cue some of the tension goes out of Derek's shoulders and Stiles hoists himself up over Derek's chest so he can get a look at Derek's face.

"You okay?" he says. "Did you get stung?"

Derek's brows furrow and he blinks up at the canopy like it holds the mysteries of the universe. "I don't think so," he says.

Stiles frowns. "You're not sure?"

Derek grunts, rolling sideways so that Stiles is forced to move or face-plant the leaf litter. It's ridiculous how much effort just getting to his knees is. It's nothing to watching Derek make it half onto his feet before staggering into a tree, though.

"Hey, take it easy-"

"I'm fine," Derek says, and Stiles snorts because oh good, we're doing that now are we?

Stiles watches as Derek pushes away from the tree with the air of a tightrope walker taking his first step. Derek takes a second to gauge his footing, which is both worrying and sort of hilarious—like a puppy learning to walk again—before he's looming over Stiles and yanking him to his own unsteady feet.

"You're due home."

The fact Derek even knows that just proves how much Stiles needs to stage an intervention. He'd caught Derek and his Dad watching baseball together last week, for gods sake. That shit just isn't cool.

* * *

Stiles groans, rolling over to grab at his phone. "Oh my god, the world had better be ending."

"The world's not ending," Scott says. "Stiles, it's ten in the morning."

Stiles slaps one hand over his eyes, because screw the inventor of sunlight, seriously. "Says the guy who wasn't out until all hours chasing Alphas around the woods," he says.

"What?" Scott says, and Stiles knows Scott way too well because he can exactly picture the bewildered expression that goes along with that tone.

"Have you called the Argents yet?" Stiles asks. "We're gonna need to tell them Alpha Dick's still on the loose."

"Argents?" Scott says. "Stiles, what're you even-"

Stiles' phone beeps and he pulls it away from his ear for a moment to check- okay, yep. "Scott, Derek's calling – I'll message you back."

"O-okay?"

Stiles sighs and switches calls. "I think Scott's-"

"You need to get here," Derek cuts him off. " _Now_."

* * *

Stiles has a tendency to drive according to the tone of the summons. It means the average travel time from his to the half-renovated Hale house is about fifteen minutes. Today, he does it in seven.

"What's going- _wh_ _oa_ _, oh my_ _god_." Stiles stops and—yeah, okay—totally gapes a little. He's within his rights though. This is a gape-worthy situation. "What?" he says. "I mean why-"

"Thank god," Erica says, throwing her hands in the air. "Would you _talk_ to him? He's been freaking out for half an hour now."

Stiles barks a sudden laugh, because holy shit. "No kidding."

Derek turns the full on Alpha glare on him. The one that says, in no uncertain terms, that the current situation is the furthermost thing from amusing on any planet in any galaxy ever. It's sorta ruined by the antennae though. And the wings. "Dude, you have _wings_."

Derek's face does a complicated looking spasm that's flits between relieved and irritated. Stiles doesn't get it at all until Isaac groans and says, "Oh my god, you too?"

Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek to look around the room. The original leather trio are the only ones present for now, probably because they practically live here at this point anyway. No doubt everyone else is on their way, given the current insanity except... Except they're not looking at Derek like he's the answer to the _one of these things is not like the other_ game. No, they're looking at _Stiles_. Stiles edges around to Derek, because while he's looking like an extra from a Japanese horror film at the moment, at least he's not shooting stiles worried looks.

"What's going on?" Stiles says.

"They think this is normal," Derek growls. Or, well, tries to growl. What comes out is a gruff semi- _buzz_.

"They think you sprouting bug bits is normal?" Stiles says, shooting Derek a sideways glance, and oh wow- "Holy crap, dude, have you seen your _eyes_?"

Derek grunts and looks down, but Stiles has already seen enough. Derek's normally Alpha red but otherwise human eyes are doing a multifaceted, silverish, bug...thing. It's like someone's cast little mini nets over Derek's eyeballs. "That is trippy as hell," Stiles says.

"What else would his eyes be doing?" Boyd asks, and Stiles looks up to find Boyd has his serious face on. It's pretty much like his normal face, but with more jaw clench.

"Ah...the red thing?" Stiles says. "Grr! Alpha werewolf?" Stiles mimes claws, because everyone—with the exception of Derek—is staring at him in various states of disbelief.

The silence stretches before Isaac says, "Were...wolf?"

Stiles reaches out and snags one of Derek's elbows, because he knows Derek's cornered and alone look by now and antennae or no, he's gonna be reminded that the second half of that isn't true. "Oh my god," Stiles says. "What the hell else would be be?"

"Ah...be?" Isaac says.

Stiles rolls his _whole face_. "Stop repeating me!"

"He's not, idiot," Erica says. "He said bee. Derek's a were _bee_."

Stiles opens his mouth only to find that, yep – nothing's happening there. No words. None.

"Maybe we should call Deaton," Boyd says. "If whatever this is, is strong enough to affect a Queen-"

Derek makes a choking sound and Stiles can't really blame him because, " _Queen_?"

Stiles looks between the leather trio and Derek who's now glaring over at him, all strange bug eyes and twitching antennae like he knows _exactly_ what Stiles is thinking and hell, he probably _does_. Not that that stops Stiles.

"You're a _Queen werebee_ ," Stiles chokes.

Isaac has to go out on the porch to call Deaton because he can't hear anything over Stiles' laughter.[[MORE]]

* * *

Deaton listens to their story with mouth pursed and eyes serious before doing something complicated with what looks like mountain ash, a bowl of water and a sliver of honeycomb. When the weird mixture flares up red after having a match dropped in it, Deaton grunts and asks them what goddess they managed to piss off.

* * *

"Allison's last name is Fumée," Stiles says, texting madly. Probably with Scott, given the subject matter. Screw Derek's life so hard. "I just looked it up and it means 'smoke' in French," Stiles continues gleefully. "Because—get this—they use smoke to subdue werebees in this reality."

"You're supposed to be researching a way to fix things," Derek says, slamming another book shut. "Not figuring out what's different. And stop saying werebees."

"Aw, c'mon Derek, don't be such a _buzz_ -kill," Stiles says, grinning wide. Derek has to remind himself that Stiles is human and probably wouldn't survive a head-first shove out the window. Probably.

The top of Derek's head itches in a way that's becoming increasingly more annoying, the longer he's stuck like this. He's managed to subdue the shift at least, pull the beta form features back in so he's not wondering around with goddamn _feelers_. Stiles is having way too much fun with all this as it is, without adding visual cues to the mix.

"I'm still not over the whole _stinging_ thing," Stiles says. "You basically jabbed your butt at people to turn them."

"I didn't jab my butt at anyone," Derek says, rolling his eyes as he grabs another tomb out of the ridiculous pile of books Stiles had dumped next to the bed. Mythology can walk into a fist, seriously. "This isn't the right reality remember? That never happened."

"Keep telling yourself that Queen bee," Stiles says. "Deaton said this reality had to come from somewhere. That means somewhere out there, there's an alternate Derek Hale jabbing betas with his butt."

Derek snorts, flipping a page. "They're called workers, remember?"

Derek blames the unfamiliar senses he's got going on right now for the fact he doesn't realise Stiles has abandoned the computer chair until he's practically right on top of him. "What-"

Stiles pulls the book out of Derek's hands and throws it on the bed before- okay, now he _is_ right on top of him; knees shifting either side of Derek's hips as he settles himself in Derek's lap.

Derek growls out a—fuck his life—buzz. "We don't have time-"

"We've been at this for three hours," Stiles says, threading his fingers up into Derek's hair, which is playing fucking dirty because he _k_ _nows_ what that does to Derek. "Break time."

"You're not the one sprouting wings here," Derek says, completely undermining his own damn words by pressing his head into Stiles' hands. Fuck it, it's been a rough day, he deserves this.

"C'mon Derek," Stiles says, scratching blunt nails over the nape of Derek's neck. " _Bee_ kind to yourself."

"You're not funny," Derek says, hooking his thumbs into Stiles' belt as he leans in to lick across Stiles' collar bone.

Stiles hums and rolls his hips. "That _stings_ , man."

Derek groans and flips them on the bed.

* * *

Stiles can count on one hand how many times he's seen Derek struggle with controlling his shift. It's usually down to extenuating wolfsbane or a fear response thing, but every now and then, something very basic and instinctual will overwhelm him and Derek will slip.

The first time it'd happened during sex, Derek had freaked but Stiles had been too busy coming messy and sudden all over himself to reassure him straight away. Because watching Derek lose it? More importantly, lose it because of _Stiles_? Hottest thing in the history of _ever_.

Which is why, when Stiles gets a hand around Derek's dick and Derek's eyes flicker slightly multifaceted, Stiles momentarily forgets how to breathe. "Holy shit, really?"

"I can't-" Derek stops; hitches a moan as Stiles twists up. "It's harder to keep-"

Oh wow, Stiles is gonna _die_. "Then don't," he says, sliding down the spread of Derek's body. Because if there's one thing guaranteed to make Derek crazy, it's Stiles' mouth.

Finding out Derek _vibrates_ when he orgasms is second in awesomeness only to the discovery that his come tastes like honey.

* * *

"Potnia," Stiles says, tapping the page of the book in front of him with one hand as the other trails idly over the tapered edge of one of Derek's wings. Derek shifts under him, still feigning nonchalance at the sensation even though Stiles can feel every freaking shiver because he's draped half on top of him.

"Potnia?" Derek grunts, blinking one eye open to peer at Stiles over the rumpled dip of the pillow. He looks...well, fucked out would be no small understatement. Stiles grins, trailing one knuckle down over the joint where the wings meet Derek's back and—yeah, fine—it's still weird as hell, but it's also totally worth it for the way Derek's eyes go unfocused; bitten lips parting around a sigh.

Discovering werebee wings are an erogenous zone has to be Stiles' favourite thing about this whole ridiculous situation so far – not least because Derek had come so hard when Stiles had grabbed onto them mid-trust earlier he'd almost bucked Stiles off the damn bed.

"Potnia, she's a Minoan-Mycenaean goddess" Stiles says, flipping the book around to prop it on Derek's bare ass. "Also known as The Pure Mother Bee. I think we pissed her off when we dropped that hive on Alpha Dick's head."

Derek huffs, rolling over to snag the book. "We?"

Stiles would roll his eyes, but that would require looking away from the bunch and shift of Derek's abs as he sits up and that shit just isn't done. "Fine," he says. " _I_ pissed her off."

"Does it say how to _un_ -piss her off?" Derek says.

Stiles shuffles up the bed to get a look at the pages over Derek's shoulder and if he makes sure to drape all the hell over Derek's side while doing it, well sue him. "There," he says, pointing out the sentence. " _Mending what's been broken_ , whatever that means."

"Well, you broke the hive, right?" Derek says.

Stiles huffs, flicking his fingers over Derek's antennae. "And your dignity, bay- _bee_."

Derek goes to elbow backwards but Stiles ducks away, laughing.

* * *

The plan's pretty simple in the end. Head back to the scene of the crime—the crime in this case being against bees, for craps sake—find the pieces of the hive and work out some way of gluing everything back together. Simple as pie. Or it should have been.

"What do you mean you can't find it?" Stiles says, throwing a gesture out at the mess of trees that, yeah pretty much look the same to him but he's the _human_ one here. "Use your super werewolf- _oh_." Stiles stops and Derek gives him his best, _fi_ _nally caught up to the rest of the class_ look.

"I can't track in this form," Derek growls. "With the exception of seeing in the UV spectrum, I can't do _shit_ in this form."

Stiles would remind him about the whole wing kink thing but Scott is like, right there. Plus Derek's gone full angry eyebrows at the universe and Stiles knows him well enough by now not to poke the angry wolf. Um. Bee. Oh god, it's not his fault this is hilarious.

"You can though," Scott suddenly says, and Stiles should probably thank him for interrupting before Stiles said something that would get him hauled up against a tree. Scott steps back, gesturing to Derek's...well, everything really? "You've been there – so tell me where it is."

Derek's eyebrows go from angry to confused in zero point three seconds. A new record, ladies and gentlemen. "What?"

"Tell me," Scott says, like Derek's the difficult kid in class. " _Dance_."

Derek startles like someone's kicked him in the face and Stiles has a bone-jarring split second to jam his fist in his mouth to keep from making any noise. Because holy shit.

"Dance," Derek says flatly, like Scott's asked him to can-can at a funeral.

"Yeah," Scott says, oblivious to the ridiculousness of what he's saying. "Your body's been there, it'll remember how to get back. This was like, one of the first things you taught me."

Stiles makes a high pitched whining noise around his hand at that because oh my god, the _visual_. Derek shoots him a look that's usually reserved for monsters trying to murder them all before turning back to Scott. "I'm not dancing."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Come on, Derek – you're the one who wants this spell or whatever broken."

He's not wrong. He's not wrong and Derek _knows_ it. Holy crap, Stiles can see it on his face. Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing like the world lives to torment his every move which, actually – fair call. "Show me how."

It's like watching one of those mashup videos on youtube of people doing embarrassing shit over and over. Scott positions Derek, tells him how to place his feet and where to put his weight; tells him to—Jesus Christ—listen to his _body_. "Let it do the talking for you," Scott says, stepping back.

Stiles has his lips jammed so solidly together he's beginning to think his mouth will bruise but he's seriously not risking any kind of interruption here because Derek might try to send him away and fuck that shit so hard, there's no way he's missing this. For a long moment Derek's just kinda left there, paused awkwardly in the leaf-dappled sunlight, scowling at the world in general and even that—just the look of out and out _fuck my life_ he's got going on—is sorta hilarious enough.

Then he starts to wiggle.

It starts with his butt – a bare twitching of hips and Stiles has to clap one hand over his mouth to keep the rogue giggle in. Derek glares at him anyway but the whole expression is completely ruined by the fact his whole lower half is like, getting into this ridiculous half jig now.

"Awesome," Scott says, like Derek's just won gold at the kiddy Olympics or something and Stiles makes a noise like he's dying because he's _actually dying_.

Derek huffs and throws a _why me_ look up at the canopy just long enough for Stiles to fumble his phone out of his pocket and get in two really blurry snapshots. Because come on, he can't freaking _no_ _t_. Oh my _god_.

* * *

The tree looks like every other damn tree in the forest, but when Stiles finds the right spot and looks up he can just see the snapped off protrusion of where the hive had been. "This is it," he says.

"I don't see any bits of hive," Scott says, toeing through the leaf litter. It's so similar to the way he'd picked his way through looking for his inhaler two years ago, Stiles has to shake off the deja-vu.

"You won't."

Stiles absolutely does not yelp and pinwheel back into Derek, except how he sorta does a little. Derek catches him, because Derek has his moments of awesome, before yanking Stiles bodily behind him in a move worthy of a freaking romance novel. Jeeze.

The woman is old and angular, steel grey hair pulled back high into a severe looking bun. In her arms is the hive, broken and sad looking where she's cradling it against her chest.

"Potnia, I'm guessing?" Stiles says. Derek tugs a sharp warning on the wrist he's still gripping and Stiles flinches. "Ow, quit it-"

"You're here to fix what's been broken?" Potnia says, mouth setting hard around every word. She honestly looks more like a stern nanny than any sort of nature goddess but then, it's not like Stiles has very much experience in this arena.

Derek nods. "We are."

Potnia glares around at them all, making Stiles shift anxiously when her cold gaze takes it's turn pinning him. Without a word, she holds out the hive and Stiles has to take a breath before he steps forward and-

"Not you," Potnia says. Her eyes tick to Derek. "You."

Stiles gapes. "But he-" Potnia's eyes snap back to him and Stiles very manfully throws his hand up and ducks more securely behind Derek. "Right! Cool, whatever you say."

Derek squeezes once, fingers warm and sure around Stiles' wrist before he lets go. Stiles only has a split second to hope he has a freaking clue what he's doing before Derek's lifting the hive out of Potnia's grasp and- oh yay, unconsciousness. Because that hadn't been fun enough before.

* * *

"Stiles. Stiles, wake up."

Stiles wrinkles his nose and bats upward, like he can wave the voice away. "Ten more minutes."

The voice huffs and his hand is snagged in a warm grip which, _rude_ before Stiles feels something sharp press lightly to the meat of his palm and _fangs_! Holy shit, thats-

Stiles yelps and yanks his hand away even as his eyes snap open and-

"Not cool, dude!" he says, sitting up to shove at Derek's chest where he's looming over him like a creeper. "What've we said about- oh-" Stiles stops; blinks. Because Derek's eyes are burning red as he smirks down at him, fangs flashing a little in the sunlight and did he mention _Derek's eyes are red_.

"It worked?" Stiles says, reaching up to smoosh his hands on either side of Derek's face because holy shit, he can't believe he'd actually _missed_ the ridiculous sideburns.

"It worked," Derek says, shifting smoothly back to human as he pulls Stiles to his feet. Stiles tries and fails not to clutch onto Derek as he sways on his feet.

"Gold star, Queen Bee," Stiles says, earning himself a low growl. "How the hell did you manage it?"

It's like seeing a portcullis slam down. Derek actually trips a little with it. "I-" Derek shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

Stiles laughs. "Hell yeah, it does – tell me."

Derek scowls. "No."

And wow, if there's any incentive in the world to make sure Stiles never stops digging it's that look on Derek's face. Dude looks like a puppy caught stealing the newspaper.

"You know I'll find out eventually," Stiles says, as Derek steers him away from the clearing.

"Buzz off, Stiles."

* * *

Three days later, Stiles finds out how bees make honeycomb. He's never closed a wikipedia article so fast in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://hatteress.tumblr.com) me bitches!


End file.
